


The Helpful Cat Rai

by SonicoSenpai



Series: Various Lamento One-Shots [16]
Category: Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-, Sewayaki Kitsune no Senko-san
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Breaking and Entering, But he's a god so it makes sense, Catboys, Crossing the line, Crossover, Dubious Consent, Fox Spirit as a Cat, Hard Day's Night, I'm sure you'll want to read this because of my amazing tags, Konoe is himself, M/M, OK a lot OOC, Questionable Consent, Rai is a Cat Deity who cleans houses and takes care of others, Rai is especially arrogant and full of himself, Rai might be slightly OOC, canon? what's that?, sex with a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicoSenpai/pseuds/SonicoSenpai
Summary: The entire plot of this one-shot is based on the anime series The Helpful Fox Senko-San, and why the hell hasn't that tag been created yet? Although none of the characters from Senko-San appear in this piece, it's obviously inspired by that and so I wanted to give credit where credit is due.This universe is a slightly different one from canon. Still Sisa, and Konoe works as a sexually harassed and overworked server at Bardo's inn. He is walking home after work, exhausted and fed up with his life. When he enters his home, he finds an intruder. This is Rai--who is a guardian deity (like the fox) whose primary purpose is to care for subjects who are suffering and who need healing. He offers Konoe all the healing and care he can, along with his haughty attitude.Yeah, there's sex. And it's dub-con because magic.





	The Helpful Cat Rai

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonnet_18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnet_18/gifts).



> Thanks to sonnet_18, whose entire idea spawned this lengthy, wordy, and humble one-shot. :)

After an exhausting dinner shift at Bardo’s tavern, I am finding my way back home. I’m exhausted and ready for bed. I make a lot in tips, but the work is grueling, and not just from a physical point of view, either. The work involves me putting up with Bardo’s customers' grabby hands, stroking my tail or petting my ears or worse, my ass. I hate being touched in a non-consensual way. 

I’ve tried to bring this up with Bardo, explaining how exhausting the work is, and if I have to pretend the customer is always right, this means I have to put up with all kinds of shit. Bardo has said I’m an excellent addition to his bar and diner, but there wasn’t much he could do. Plus, he pointed out my tips would be better if I put up with the abuse silently. Still—I _hate_ it. I’m sure it’s partly true that I attract a certain type of customer—the lonely ones who don’t have a cat to share their bed. They come to Bardo’s for comfort food and a quick grab and go, literally.

The first thing I want to do when I get home, after slipping out of my shoes, is take a bath. I want to scrub all the skank off my body and bask in my own scent.

It’s been at least six months that I’ve worked for Bardo. And the pay is good, but the tips really are better—especially if I just allow the customers to do as they please. Again, I _hate_ the job.

The night is clear and crisp—autumn is just around the corner. And maybe that’s why the customers have been extra handsy. The mating season will be upon us soon, after all. Maybe having them get their hopes up isn’t a bad thing, as far as my tips go. But there’s no way I’ll be taking _any_ of them home. In fact, I go out of my way to change my route home each night, just in case someone follows me. 

Good. I’m finally here, feeling much safer the moment I arrive. I unlock the door to my small house—it’s a single room house, just big enough for me to live in and maintain—well, my maintenance of late has really gone down the toilet. On my days off, I’m just too tired to clean. I barely manage to dress in clean clothes. And I work a _lot_. I’m still a kitten, technically. I need more sleep than I’m getting. I’m supposed to be sleeping twelve hours a day, and ten as an adult. I’m of age, technically, at eighteen. I wouldn’t be able to work at the bar if I were younger. I just wish I didn’t have to work so much. It would be nice if Bardo hired more full-time help. I mean, it’s not only me—Asato is there a lot to help out, and even Tokino works a shift now and then on Friday and Saturday nights. But I get only one day off each week—if that—and tend to sleep it away. 

When I slip off my shoes at the door, I notice that I must have left a guiding leaf on—in fact, wait—there are quite a few guiding leaves out—many more than I usually use. Also, I smell something strange—like cooking food. When I walk into the kitchen area, there’s a pot of stew simmering—and it smells so good it makes my stomach growl.

But this means someone has been in my house while I was at work. I’m terribly confused and then become nervous. The intruder could still be here. I wouldn’t have anyone to come in and cook for me, so this has to be something else. Immediately I start rifling around my room, looking for items that have been stolen—and it doesn’t look like anyone has taken anything. In fact, it’s a little neater than it was when I left. Thankfully, my dad’s keepsake ring is still right where I left it. It doesn’t look like anything has been taken, and I start to calm my racing heart.

Walking back to the kitchen, I stumble over something lying in the middle of the floor. I’m so tired that I actually trip and fall to the ground. There I see a small white creature. It looks like my tripping over it woke it up—it was sleeping just moments ago. It’s small enough that I could hold it in my arms, about the size of a fox, actually. What is this thing?  
  
I reach out and touch it—it’s pure white and it is missing an eye, and oddly it’s wearing a black eyepatch over its right eye. But the remaining eye opens and stares at me accusingly, and it’s a gorgeous icy blue. It has small, rounded ears and long fur covering its body. Its tail is the fluffiest thing I have ever seen, so I reach out to touch its fur. It’s silky and soft, very unlike my downy fur. My touching it, and when I scratch its ears—also soft and fluffy—it presses its head into my hand and purrs. It’s so _cute_!

It purrs! Is this a kind of cat? I’ve never seen a cat that walks on four legs, though. This thing is so little and sweet—and its fur is so soft. I feel strange when I run my fingers through the fur. It’s oddly relaxing, almost magically so.

Then, it stands up and gives a long stretch, a meow slipping out of its mouth when it stretches its hind legs and its front legs out in front of its body, bristling its pretty tail. It’s _really_ cute! I smile in spite of the anxiety I was feeling just moments ago when I thought someone had broken into my home.

“You are adorable!” I coo softly. It looks right at me when I speak to it, almost as if it can understand what I am saying. “I’ve never seen a creature like you before. How did you get in here, though?” 

It presses its head into my hand again, then walks away from me—and then I hear a strange sound. It’s like a hissing sound—like steam under pressure, maybe? And the room is filled with a foggy mist that surrounds the tiny cat. He’s disappeared into a puff of mist—nicely scented mist, like freshly fallen snow—and when the fog disappears, I find I have to rub my eyes in disbelief.

Before my eyes—right where that little creature was sitting—is a giant Ribika. He’s seated on the floor—but he’s huge. What the hell is this? Is this the same creature? Did the little cat transform into this hulking thing? I shrink away a little, nervous about his size and wonder what the hell he is doing in my house.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? And… are you that little fuzzy creature I just saw a second ago?”

He has to be the same—he has the same long hair, down to his waist, in fact—and it’s shimmering white, just like the little creature had. When he looks at me, he face shows a hint of disdain at first, almost like I’ve insulted him. He is also wearing a black eyepatch, and his other eye is the same icy blue that the small cat had. And his ears are small and rounded, covered in silky soft fur, and his tail—holy crap! It’s so long and big and fluffy! He’s sitting on the floor wearing a navy blue kimono tied with a black obi, and tabby socks.

“Welcome home,” he says softly. His voice is low and gentle.

I swallow nervously, looking him up and down. If this is the same creature, did I basically hold _that_ cat in my arms and stroke his fur? I’m horribly embarrassed.

“What are you doing in my house?” I ask.

“That’s some greeting. And you’re so noisy. You have so many questions. But wouldn’t you rather eat?” He stands up, stretching his arms and legs—like I do when I wake from a nap. When he stands up, he makes my house look incredibly small. I mean, he doesn’t bump his head on the ceiling, but he most certainly would have to duck coming in the front door. He turns to look at me and smiles softly. He has quite a handsome face, actually. He’s oddly good looking—and he walks over to the stove where the pot is simmering, and he dishes up a bowl. Then he walks back over to the small table and sets it down, along with a spoon. “Come. Eat.” 

He helps himself to a bowl as well—as though he _lives_ here. I’m slightly offended by his manner, but my stomach growls again, embarrassingly loud. I skipped dinner and lunch—I was just too busy. And this smells so good. Like— _enchantingly_ good. Even better than Bardo’s made-with-love comfort food. This smells almost magical.

I find myself crawling over to the table and I lower my nose to the dish of stew. It has meat in it—it looks like chicken—and I know I didn’t have any meat at home. I rarely cook for myself. I will often have fish that can be eaten raw when I can afford it, but my diet consists mostly of fruit, vegetables, and nuts, and bread when I can afford it. I don’t cook with the stove. It uses a small flame as the burner, and it frightens me. I’m afraid of fire and always have been. It’s why I light my home with guiding leaves instead of oil lamps.

The large white cat doesn’t sit down, though. He walks back over to the kitchen counter and brings over a loaf of bread with butter served on the side. For sure, I did _not_ have that bread or butter in my house when I left for work today. 

“Would you like some bread and butter with your stew?”

“Um,” I say nervously. I can’t believe I’m considering eating a meal that some strange cat has cooked after breaking into my house, but here I am, sitting in front of a steaming hot bowl of stew that is making my mouth water. “Did you make this?”  
  
“I did. The meals of the cat deity will bless your body and nourish your soul.” His blue eye looks at me meaningfully, as though I'm supposed to understand those words, and he takes a seat across the table.

“Cat deity?” I ask suspiciously. “Who exactly _are_ you?”

“I just said. I’m the cat deity. Perhaps you have too much fluff in your ears.” His comment is kind of rude, I think. I am offended by the fluff comment. And certainly, his ears are fluffier than mine.

“What are you doing in my house?” I ask again.

“I have come to pamper you. You are in dire need of help. Your mortal soul is in danger of being dragged into the underworld.” 

“My mortal soul?” Who the fuck is this crazy cat? I wish I weren’t so distracted by the warm scent of the stew so I could tell him off and tell him to get out of my house. But it smells so enticing!

“Eat,” he says softly, nodding his chin. My hand picks up a spoon as though hypnotized.  
  
Wait! I can’t just eat a stew some stranger prepared for me! It might be poisoned! What am I doing? What am I thinking? This is crazy!

“No! How do I know it hasn’t been poisoned? You still haven’t said how you got in here or what you’re doing here!”

The silver cat looks downright offended.

“I have never poisoned any of the cats I have pampered. I would never do that. I’m the god who will nurse you back to health. This stew will, in fact, dissolve some of the poison surrounding your soul and your body that I see in the black cloud floating around you. It will ease your stress and help you sleep.”

“I’m not poisoned!” Not yet, I think.

He reaches his hand across the table, grabbing my hand in his much larger one. He’s warm.

“But you are. Your work environment is toxic and it’s melting away the innocent parts of your soul. You suffer terribly at work, don’t you?”

My head nods, but I don’t know why I am agreeing with him. I’m only feeding into his delusion.

“So. Allow this care, allow my pampering. This is a blessing. I’ll get you back up to health.”

He smiles again gently, as though referring to himself as a blessing should comfort me—but I’m distracted by how soft his face looks when he smiles. He is almost sparkling with genuine magic. Again, I feel something in my chest loosen—just a little—and my hand dips the spoon into the stew and shovels a bite into my mouth. It’s delicious. I’ve never had such a tasty meal before in my life. 

Oh, my gods! I just _ate_ some! What am I _doing_?!

“Bread?” He asks, picking up the knife on the table.

A knife! He really _is_ going to kill me! I fluff up all my fur and jump to my feet, making his fur bristle as well. He looks surprised by my action, though, not threatened.

“Do you like bread that much? I made it myself. What a nice response,” he says, smiling as he cuts off a thick slice. He smears a large bit of butter on it—and where did he get that? I _never_ have butter in my house. I can’t afford it.

“Um, I-i…” I am watching the knife carefully. He sets it back down on the table. Does he not realize how incredibly intimidating he is?

“Here,” he says, offering me the bread. I take it from his hands. Why am I doing this? I’m only encouraging him even more!

“Um, thank you,” I mutter quietly. “Why are you here? How did you get in? Did I forget to lock the door?”

I know I didn’t since I unlocked it when I came inside. Although—maybe I did forget when I left this morning. I’m compulsive about locking my house when I leave, though. But perhaps he came in and locked it behind him?

“I don’t know if you forgot to lock the door. I don’t use doors,” he says.

“You came in through the window?” I ask, baffled. Certainly not! He would never fit!

“No. I just enter as a spirit would.” A little chill shivers down my spine when he says that.

“Are you a spirit?” I ask.

Again, that eye narrows again sharply, and the look in his eye matches his tone of voice.

“No. I already _told_ you. I’m the cat deity. I’m here to take care of you.” 

“I don’t need any care!” I burst out, frustrated by the way this awkward conversation is going. I’m threatened by having him in my house, too. I realize he is even larger in stature than my most annoying customers. I’m nervous! I can’t help it. “I can’t afford it anyway.”

“I do not charge for my services,” the silver cat says. “I only require your appreciation. Listen. A _god_ is taking care of you—in order to _save_ your mortal soul. You should be _grateful_.”

“I’m not!” I insist. “Who are you really?”

He sighs, almost resigned.

“Sit down, shut up, and eat your stew. Dip the bread in it, and you will feel much better. You’ll feel much more like yourself, Konoe.”

“Uwaa—how do you know my name?!” If he were a customer of mine, I would have remembered him. His size, his gorgeous face, that lovely fur—he’s unforgettable. I know I’ve never met him before! 

“How many times do I have to go through this? I’m the cat deity, and I’ve been watching you for some time now.” He sighs in frustration. “Sit down.” He lifts up his fingers and makes a little swiping motion with them.

To my surprise, I sit down at the table. It shocks me—I just sit without any volition of my own at all.

“Eat.” He motions with his fingers again, and I dip the bread in my stew and take a bite, just like when I sat down. I’m obeying him like I can’t help it.

What is going on? I fluff up my fur in fear and my claws draw around the bread. Is he _enchanting_ me? Maybe he is a sorcerer!

“Relax.” With another motion of his hand, my fur settles and my claws retract.

“What are you doing to me?” I ask, my mouth full of bread soaked in the stew. It’s delicious, but I still feel slightly nervous. I can’t be as anxious as I was just moments ago, though, because he told me to relax.

“I’m trying to _help_ you. Now, sit, relax, and eat to your heart’s content. My presence here is of my own free will. I saw you suffering and I came to help you—to heal you.”

I continue eating despite my best efforts to stop. I am glaring at him across the table.

“What’s with that face?” He asks. “Be _pleased_. Be _grateful_. This is a _blessing_.”

I feel my face relaxing into something less heated than the glare.

“You’re _enchanting_ me!” I accuse him.

“I have that effect on many cats,” he purrs happily, almost proudly, though I meant my comment as an accusation. “It’s _impossible_ to resist my care. Or my person.”

His person? Does he mean what I think he does? Is he thinking about _that_? Shit.

But damn, the food is really, really good. And it does make my hunger disappear. And more than that—it makes me feel relaxed. Is it drugged, too? Or enchanted? Shit.

It can’t be, though—since he is eating it as well. He blows off the spoon before putting in it his mouth, which I find slightly endearing. Does he have the cat’s tongue, I wonder? A deity with a sensitive tongue? Adorable. He smiles across the table at me again.

“What do you think?” 

“It’s delicious,” I admit. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but this is better than what my boss makes at work.”

“Of _course_ it is!” He says, instantly offended again. “I’m a _god_. My cooking is healthy, nourishing, and delicious.”

I continue eating in silence, watching the cat eat carefully. I am almost afraid I might insult him again. Everything he does—how he moves, how he speaks—is overflowing with elegance and grace. Like a prince or a king—maybe he really is a god? I can’t deny what I saw in my house earlier—that four-legged cat-like creature that transformed into the cat sitting across from me. 

“Can you change your appearance?” I ask.

“Ah, yes. It’s more convenient to sleep in tight spaces in my small form,” he says nonchalantly.

“Why did you come here?” I ask again.

“So many questions—it’s annoying that you ask the same question so many times,” he sighs. “You really _do_ need help and healing.” He stands up from the table, and I try hard not to flinch. “Would you like a bath after dinner? You can wash off the scent of those other cats from your body.”

“That is my usual routine,” I say suspiciously.

“I’ll help you,” he says. He walks over to the tub I have standing in the corner, places it on the floor, and starts adding water to it—he has boiled some on the stove while we were eating, and I didn’t even notice it. I see him adding herbs to the water—it smells like mint. When he is filling the tub, it looks like there is shimmering magic added each time he adds water. The water doesn’t look like normal water to my eyes. It doesn’t take long before it’s full, and I notice a blue flame at the base of the tub.

I can’t tear my eyes from it. There is a _fire_ on the floor of my house!

“What is that?!” I ask—frightened of the flame.

“It’s my special ability to keep the water nice and warm. You’re a small cat and you shouldn’t catch a chill when you soak in the tub. Have you finished eating? Did you want another helping?”

“Um, I’m fine,” I say, still nervous about the flame.

“Then let me help you bathe.” He takes three long strides to where I am sitting and pulls me to my feet.

Then he starts divesting me of my clothes in rapid movements. That is definitely distracting enough for me to forget about the fire!

“Wait! Um—stop!” I say.

“You are too resistant of my care, silly kitten. Just submit and get into the bath. You’ll feel much better.”

My trousers are stripped from my body, leaving me in my underwear. It’s a little chilly in here, but I do not want to be naked in front of this huge intruder. In short order and despite my efforts, my underwear is stripped from my body as well.

“Get in. It will warm you up.” He holds my hand and guides me to the bath.

“Uh, um, I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, bristling my tail and wrapping it around my waist.

“Why not? You have such a beautiful body. You should care for it properly—or better, let _me_ care for it.” I feel fingers stroke the base of my tail, and it makes me shiver—with fear? Desire? Anticipation? What is this?

I step into the tub, mostly to escape that touch and those feelings. He will have to take his hands off of me when I am in the bath. The water smells really nice—minty and clean—and he kneels beside the tub and starts to wash my hair.

“Um, I really, um, I don’t need—”

“So resistant! It’s almost insulting,” he growls softly. “Relax, stupid cat.”

When he tells me to relax, my body responds on its own. I lean back in the tub and let him massage shampoo into my hair, scalp, and ears. Why am I not resisting more? I don’t understand—but the more he touches me, the more relaxed I feel. It’s hypnotizing, that touch. I press my lips together to avoid letting any strange sounds leak out.

He rinses my hair and then applies something else—it’s creamier than shampoo and it tingles my scalp. He combs it through with his claws and it feels so nice. Then, he takes a cloth and starts rubbing my back. I haven’t had someone to scrub my back since Mom died all those years ago. It’s almost heartbreaking. 

He finishes sooner than I expect—perhaps sooner than I would like, even—and he moves to my chest. Being able to see his face while he scrubs down my skin is horribly embarrassing. I feel heat flooding my ears and face. 

“Ah. Are you a shy one? I’ve never cared for a kitten with pink ears before,” he murmurs softly.

“Do you have a name? How should I address you?” I ask, closing my eyes against the embarrassment. If he’s going to be touching me so intimately, I should probably figure out what to call him.

“Rai. You can call me Rai.” I didn’t hear him move, but he speaks directly into my ear—whispering a little. It is slightly startling, but worse, it seems to be having an effect on my body. “Kneel up.”

“What? No!” I say, sitting up in the tub and backing away.

“Konoe, I want to condition all your fur. I can’t reach your tail under the water. So kneel up.” He wiggles his fingers again. “There’s no need to be ashamed.”

“I-i’m not ashamed,” I insist, and to my dismay, my body complies with his command. I am naked and kneeling in the bathtub, and he starts combing his claws through my tail. My tail is really sensitive—I don’t allow anyone to touch it, not even when people ask about the crooked tip.

“Oh? So why are you blushing then? Hmm. A lucky tail. How unusual. It goes so well with your pink ears,” he says quietly, almost as though talking to himself. He also combs the conditioner through the fur just below my belly button, and my skin quivers at the touch.

“Um—n-no—that tickles,” I say. But I can’t move away from him. It’s like I’m stuck here.

“Endure it. You’ll be fine in a moment and you’ll feel so much better.”

I am purring—and he is, too—probably because he is purring. It’s all so embarrassing! I don’t know how to act around another cat who is doing these things to me.

“All right. Lie back in the tub and relax. Close your eyes, if you want.”

He stands up and heads back to the kitchen—I can see him because my eyes are most definitely not closed. I am forced to lean back in the water, though. I can’t help it! He pours something into a cup. Is that alcohol? It seems I’ll find out soon enough since he brings it over to me and presses it into my hands.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Catnip liquor—a special kind. Drink it. It will heal your body.”

“No,” I say, pushing the cup back into his hands. I’m a little surprised to see an offended look on his pretty face—or maybe it’s not offense? Does he look _hurt_? What the hell?

“Drink it,” he insists, and he holds it up to my lips and pours it into my mouth. It’s tasty—minty and smooth with a kick. It smells like the bathwater, actually. And I like it. But I’m having trouble making my brain work right like I’ve stayed up all night or something. “I made it myself—thinking of you and your troubles. Drink it and be grateful.”

He sighs, obviously frustrated, and returns the empty glass to the sink. To my shock, he is cleaning up the dishes. What the hell?  
  
“What are you doing?” I ask. “You don’t have to—”

He looks at me with that sharp, icy blue eye again, and I shut my mouth. 

“I don’t _have_ to do anything. I’m a god. And I’ve chosen _you_. Lie back, relax, and close your eyes.”

Again, my body does his bidding, and my eyes close. I feel incredibly helpless, but also very relaxed. It’s an odd combination. I can hear the dishes sloshing around in the water as he cleans them up. It doesn’t take long, but I am very, very relaxed by the time he is finished. I can hear light footsteps back to the tub, and he kneels down beside me. 

“Feeling better?”

“Mmm.”

“Good. Now, let’s dry you off and groom you,” he says, and he helps me out of the tub. My entire body feels as though it’s full of lead. I can barely move, and I certainly can’t resist. It’s even hard to keep my eyes open.

I’m carried over to the bed after my hair and body are toweled off—and I am vaguely aware that I am still naked. The sheets under my body feel smooth and chilled, and I shiver when my bare skin touches them. I don’t spend a lot of time in the nude. I sleep in pajamas or sometimes my clothes when I don’t have the energy to change. Then I notice my bed smells different—it smells like freshly fallen snow—the same scent as that mist that surrounded the cat’s body when he transformed. Did he enchant my bed? If I weren’t feeling so relaxed right now, that thought would definitely make me nervous.

“Um,” I start again.

“Just shut up and relax,” he says impatiently. Then he climbs into bed next to me, pulling my back against his chest. His silk kimono feels indulgent against my skin. Then, he lowers his mouth to my ears and starts grooming them—slowly. His tongue is much rougher than mine, and it feels strange but also relaxing. That strange weight on my chest starts to lighten again. It’s so weird. I get goosebumps when he dips his tongue deep into my ear to groom my downy white undercoat. I can’t help bristling my fur, almost as though to help him along.

I realize there is a strange but pleasant sighing sound mixed with a purr that fills my ears and the room, coloring it a gentle, warm shade. What is that? Is that coming from me?

Pushing me onto my stomach, he starts grooming my tail—with his tongue and teeth—and sending more shivers down the length of my tail into my body. I’ve never had anyone groom my fur like this, and it feels amazing. It’s both relaxing and arousing at the same time, as though one part of my body—the stressed part—switches off and another part of me has switched on. That other part of me, the part that isn't stressed, is one I don't know very well. It’s such an odd feeling. I don’t fight it. At least, not until I hear him murmur something—and his voice is different, lower and huskier.

“You’re doing so well, little kitten. Are you feeling grateful?”

My fur bristles all at once, and I hear a fierce growl rattle my chest. I pull my body around on the bed, my bristled tail in front of my hips.

“What are you doing? What is your intention?”

I’m pretty sure I know what he intends. I’m not sure I want it—well, I’m not sure my _head_ wants it. But my heart and body are of a completely different opinion.

“I am grooming you, helping you relax, healing you. Do you dislike it? It doesn’t _look_ like you dislike it.” His face is soft, but there’s something hot burning under the surface of his eye.

“W-why did you choose me?” I stammer. I’m afraid I know what he is going to say, but I ask the question just the same.

“Because you needed my help. It’s my duty to come here and help heal you.” That isn’t what I expected. But then, Rai adds, “Plus, I think you’re very cute.”

My bristled ears flatten against my skull.

“Oh, don’t do that. I’ll have to groom you again from the beginning,” he says, running his claws through the fur of my ear.

Damn it. Despite myself, my ears relax and I feel my head pushing up into his hand. His touch is amazing—so gentle and sweet—and so welcome. It’s not at all like the groping I suffer at the bar, day in and day out.

Also—I notice in addition to the strange minty smell from the catnip, I am covered in his scent. It is odd but also relaxing. It makes my heart thump loudly in my ears.

“Are you feeling grateful?” He repeats his earlier question, keeping his gaze on me while he strokes my ears.

“Um, I don’t know,” I say, still embarrassed.

“You should feel blessed and grateful, stupid cat. What do I need to do to make you accept this?” His tone is slightly more threatening than I would like. He’s making me terribly nervous—but then, a part of me wonders if I’m nervous or if I’m anticipating something.

“I am,” I say, changing my response. “I am grateful. Thank you for the meal and for your care.”

“Would you like some additional care?” He purrs and then flips me over onto my back once more. He doesn’t wait for my response.

“You really—um—you don’t have to—” I am not resisting as much as I feel like I should. My body feels overcome with his soft, gentle caresses, and I can’t think of anything else except more of this “care.”

“I _know_ I don’t have to do anything. I made that perfectly clear earlier.” I’m a little surprised when he lowers his mouth to the fur below my belly. I try to groom that myself, but I’m not that flexible. I use my hands and claws, usually. But this touch feels almost electric—different even from what he was doing to my tail just moments ago. This is sending waves of desire into my groin. I should want to hide from this—but I can’t resist.

Weirdly, in fact, my body starts to arch up off the bed with every stroke of his tongue and his claws, which are running through my tail. And that soft, purring sigh I was making earlier changes into something louder, more desperate, and much lewder.

“Oh, gods,” I whisper.

“No, just _one_ god in this case. And I told you to call me Rai.” He smiles up at me, and I feel like he should not be looking at me right now. My ears are burning up, and my cheeks feel like they are on fire. “You’re adorable. And much more relaxed. Let me heal you.”

“Please!” I whisper—and my response shocks even me. But my heart is not resisting, my body is responding, and my gods—I have to have _more_.

I shudder with delight when his mouth reaches a little lower, and I gasp when I feel his mouth around my cock. He is still watching my face—clear passion in that blue eye—and I find I cannot look away. I feel my dick expanding in his mouth, and he languidly laps his tongue around me, pulling me in and out from between his lips. He even uses just a tiny graze of fang around the head, and it makes me sigh with delight.

Ashamed of the vulgar noises coming out of me, it occurs to me that to do such a thing with a god would be highly inappropriate. Wouldn’t it?  
  
“W-wait,” I whisper, putting my hand on his ears. They are so soft that my hand stays right there, and he pushes his head up into my hand, just like he did when he was in that small creature form.

“What.” It’s not a question. And he has a slightly annoyed expression on his face again.

“If y-you really are a g-god, then, um, d-doing this i-isn’t a wise idea,” I stammer, watching his tongue pop out of his mouth and lick me. He’s trying to make me stutter my words.

“You are too resistant. I said I would _care_ for you. Now, let me care for you.”

“B-but—ah!” I can’t finish my protest because I feel him sink his mouth around me again, using more suction than before, and his hands curl around to my behind, stroking the base of my tail. My tail is bristled thickly and oddly lifted like I am exposing myself to him—welcoming him. I blush even harder in spite of myself.

He hums—and between that and his purr, I try to pull my thighs together, almost as though the stimulation is too much. But I can’t since he’s moved his heavy body in between my legs. I feel a finger brushing across my entrance—and I shudder. What is he doing to me?

“Relax,” he says again. And my body relaxes, just like that. I can’t help it. I feel him sink a finger inside me and to my utter surprise, it doesn’t hurt. He’s very gentle, and maybe—this is from the catnip? I don’t know—and I don’t really care. Now—I don’t know whether to pay attention to what his mouth and lips are doing to my cock or to follow the path that finger makes as it presses inside me.

In just a little while, he adds a second finger. Now when he spreads them apart inside my body, I feel a wonderful little chill that floods my body in a different way from the arousal I feel from his mouth on my dick. Soon, after adding a third finger, he suddenly pulls his hands and mouth away from me.

My legs are spread wide and then folded up against my chest, bending me in half. My tail is exposed and it bristles its plush fur and floats away from my body as though in slow motion. And I feel something else—something hotter than his fingers—pressing against me. I swallow nervously, and a shudder courses through me.

Rai has undone the obi from his kimono which is now hanging open—and I get a wonderful view of his muscular chest. In fact, I push the kimono off his shoulders to expose even more of that gorgeous pale skin, and I get a small smile and a kiss on the nose.

“That is the kind of gratitude I want to see from you,” he murmurs.

Wait—just a minute. Is this—this act—what I am doing in return for his care of me? Or is it part of the care? What is this exactly?  
  
But I don’t have time to think about it, nor to resist, when I feel him advancing inside my body. Again—there isn’t any pain, and by all rights, there should be. Unless this is something to do with the mating season—but I haven’t had any symptoms. Can catnip make your body go into heat? Does it have a similar effect?

I feel very full when he is inside me—and I feel his body resting heavily on me. Hands move from the base of my tail and my buttocks up my hips, stroking my sides, and then one lands on my chin. So gently, my head is tipped up as he lowers his lips to mine—and he kisses me deeply. He tastes nice—a little salty and sweet at the same time—and I let his tongue explore inside my mouth. I can feel him purring—even with my mouth. It entices me further, and I moan a little—trying to keep my voice down. But I’m unable to do so. 

As he is kissing me, he slowly begins to rock his hips. Smaller movements become larger ones, until he is actually thrusting in and out of my body in a pleasing rhythm. My body relaxes even more, but I can feel him inside me—and that strange place inside me that his fingers were stroking earlier gets a strange little bump. And I gasp out loud, biting his lip on accident. 

When I bite him, he doesn’t get upset. In fact—if anything—it seems to incite him to fuck me harder, and he nips my lips in return, trailing teeth and lips down my jaw, my throat, which is completely available to him, and my collarbones. He is purring so loud it sounds like a growl, and I love the sound. It’s both frightening and an incredible turn on.

I reach my hands around his back—looping one arm around his neck and lowering the other to the base of his tail. _So fluffy_. He bristles and I feel a shudder rush through his body when I touch him. It’s so incredibly sexy and arousing that I nearly lose my breath, but I manage to keep running my claws through his fur. 

I am slowly coming apart at the seams—the pleasure coursing through my body is looking for an outlet—and it’s doubled when I feel his hand on my cock, which is dripping with excitement. I growl when I feel his hand on me, and his other hand moves to the base of my tail. He’s resting his torso on me—I think—so he still has plenty of freedom of movement.

My toes curl down in pleasure and I am gasping and wheezing for breath when my mind is branded by a shock of white sparks. I feel my body loosening and I let myself come, releasing in his palm and feeling him continue to stroke me even after I have finished, leaving me relaxed, quivering, and out of my mind.

I feel him groaning and stuttering inside my body, which has tightened around his cock, as he spills inside of me. He bites the place between my neck and shoulder when he comes, almost as though he can’t help it.

The idea that I could attract such a magnificent creature—a god—into my bed is astounding and extraordinarily hot. I’ve forgotten all about his intrusion into my home (and my bed) by this time, and I only want him to stay with me. 

When he stops moving, he pulls out of me—and that’s a strange sensation, not being taken anymore. My body feels so weird to no longer be connected, and my hands start to move against his back, pulling his torso closer to me as though I want additional connection. It feels so good—having his heartbeat slowing down against my chest—almost in time with mine, in fact, like my heart is dependent on his.

What is this feeling?  
  
“Aw, don’t cry,” he whispers, looking up at my face and licking the tears on my cheeks. His hands are on either side of my head, one stroking my ears and the other cupping my chin. “You were just lonely. You don’t have to be lonely anymore.”

“Mmm,” I agree, sniffling a little. I hadn’t realized my tears spilled down my cheeks—but my heart feels strangely open and vulnerable. I close my eyes and let him groom my cheeks, and then he moves back up to my ears, turning over in my bed so he is on his back and I am lying on top of his chest.

I drift off to sleep—covered in his scent, relaxed, feeling fulfilled and loved and cared for. I am hypnotized by his purr. I wake up several times in the night—almost surprised to find him still with me in the bed. Part of me thinks I dreamed him up and imagined him—this was all some elaborate fantasy.

Partway through the night, however, I wake up and I am alone in bed under the covers. There is a weight on my lap, however. When I open my eyes, I see the four-legged cat lying on me, curled up and sound asleep. He purrs in his sleep. It’s adorable. And he is so soft. I can’t help petting him a little—well, maybe more than a little, before I am captivated by that soft purr and the enticement of sleep.


End file.
